


Make It Through

by FishEyenoMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishEyenoMiko/pseuds/FishEyenoMiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of depression, Sherlock finds an unusual source of strength and hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Through

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: [AvatarMN](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarMN)

"If you're bleeding, look for a man with scars."  
-Leela, _Doctor Who_ , "Robots of Death".

It was a warm night, so John had opted to sleep in just his boxers. He sat in bed, working on his blog and waiting for Sherlock. It had taken some coaxing, but he'd managed to get the ill-tempered detective to actually eat and shower before he went to bed for the night (not that he'd really even gotten up that day). Sherlock trudged into the bedroom, fresh from the shower and dressed in clean pyjamas. He more-or-less just fell into bed on John's right side, not bothering with the duvet. John finished the part of his blog he'd been working on and set his laptop on the night stand. He lay down, turning towards Sherlock and observing him quietly. Sherlock stared at the ceiling, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and boredom.

After a few moments, Sherlock turned to look at John. He made an odd expression, then rolled towards John. "Scoot over," he said.

"What do you-" before John could finish, Sherlock began moving, on top of him, then over, clearly intending to move to the other side of the bed. "Oh, ok," John said, budging over to give Sherlock room on the left side of the bed.

Sherlock leaned up on one arm, looking down at John. Reaching down with his left hand, Sherlock ran his fingers gently over the scar on John's shoulder. "You didn't die."

"No," John replied.

"But it was... hellish, I'm sure. Not just the shooting; but the surgery, and the recovery, and rehab..."

John nodded. He had a feeling this was headed somewhere; he'd learned to be patient and let Sherlock get to the point in his own time.

"And I'll bet there were times, during all that, where it seemed like it would never end. Nights when you'd lie in your hospital bed and imagine you'd spend the rest of your life there. Thinking that your shoulder would always hurt as much as it did _right then_."

"Yeah, I had some... dark nights."

Sherlock nodded. "But it passed. And you moved on." Then Sherlock rolled onto his back, once again looking up the ceiling. 

"Sometimes, when I'm... between cases, there are times when it feels like it'll never end. Everything is so boring and predictable, and people are such _idiots_ , and..." he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "God, the days just stretch out and it all feels so _pointless_..."

John gave Sherlock a sad, sympathetic look.

Sherlock rolled over and again leaned up. He caressed John's scar as he continued. "When you're in the middle of it, it's all you can think of... you can't imagine it ever ending; hell, sometimes it's hard to remember things ever being any different..."

"Sherlock," John whispered, reaching up and ran his hand along his lover's cheek.

Sherlock shifted positions slightly, and bent down, kissing John's scar. He leaned back up, his eyes focused on John's shoulder. "It was a bullet wound; all the way through your shoulder. Probably terrible to look and more painful than... well, more pain than I can imagine. And you no doubt had a hard time moving that arm for awhile after it happened. But now it's just a scar; the skin repaired itself, and you've regained much of the functionality. It'll never look and act the same as before you were shot, but it's better than it was right after it happened. 

"It reminds me-- _you_ remind me--that things can get better. Even as I lay here bored and hating life, I know it won't last... Lestrade will call with a bizarre case, or some poor sod will e-mail or text or even drop by with some mystery they need my help solving, or... or, hell, maybe some idiot will try to prove himself by challenging me..." Sherlock smiled. "This isn't the end; it's not permanent, it's just something I have to deal with and get through."

John blushed. He always did whatever he could to help Sherlock through the hard times; it had never occurred to him that he was helping him in more ways than he knew, and without even trying. He smiled and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "I'm glad I'm able to help." He smiled at his lover. "Things really will get better, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled and kissed John. "They already have."


End file.
